


Hunting Husbands

by adametogankfor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bickering, Blood, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Future Fic, Homophobic Language, M/M, POV Outsider, Sexuality Crisis, and believe it or not but it's not Dean's, everyone ships it, shhh let me dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 05:06:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8043664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adametogankfor/pseuds/adametogankfor
Summary: They’re psycho-killers, a small, deceptively calm voice in the back of Jason's head points out helpfully, they’ve just slaughtered over a dozen of vampires and they’re cuddling.





	Hunting Husbands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [followthattardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/followthattardis/gifts).



_Ah, these two. In fight, they’re lethal. Around each other, they melt._

 

_\---_

 

Jason remembers his grandma telling him about fires of hell. The summer afternoon was burning, its blaze forever charred in his memory. Harsh sunlight leaking through the blinds in lines and squares splaying out on the kitchen floor. Stuffy air brimming with the low buzzing of flies. Everything seemed unbearably hot. The only ounce of wetness left in the universe was the one making his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth as he was listening to his grandmother telling him about the  inferno waiting for those who didn’t listen to their parents and didn’t eat their veggies. Hell, and death by association, were all about fire – the violent flame of it engulfing the sinners, devouring their bodies and souls, reducing them to burned and broken husks kept together with their last scream. Messy. Unpredicted. Chaotic.

Fifteen years later, as cold sweat gathers in the creases of his palms, as blood starts seeping through his shirt, as he tries not to breath to keep himself hidden, he realizes that the ol’ gran had it all wrong.

Death is a river. It meanders around corpses dropping heavy like stones; forks into smaller, lethal streams that shine with light reflected on the surface of blades.

Death is a jet, precise and focused, aimed to burst through the hardest of obstacles with a bang of a shot.

Death is a tidal wave looming on the horizon. It mounts higher and higher, only to finally break, spreading wide, drowning everything and everyone, with no consideration for its victims.

Death is water.

Swift. Smooth.

Inevitable.

 

They move just like water.

They kill just like water.

 

At one point, he sees Ned almost getting one of their attackers. The dark-haired guy is pulling his machete out of the wall where he buried it after slicing clean through Tamia’s neck (and ding-dong, the bitch is dead, Jason allows himself to think with gleefulness bordering on hysterical. He never liked her). Ned’s fingers graze the back of the guy’s head when a shout (a name?) cuts the air, followed by a blade. The guy whirls around just in time to catch it, Jason blinks, and Ned drops down, leaving behind only a spray of dark red on the guy’s grim face. Jason blinks again, and the blade is sent the same way it came from. It hits Todd straight in the face while he’s busy strangling the second one. The second hunter.

That is so not how Jason’s vampire adventure was supposed to end – especially as it hasn’t even begun for real yet.

When everything is said and done, when screams fall silent and all movement stops, Jason can’t believe his own eyes. At first, he blames the angle – after all, it’s hard to see anything clearly while hiding under an old, industrial fridge in a dark, dark basement. Maybe he just lost count in the bloodbath. Maybe there’s still someone left on the upper floors.

Minutes pass. Silence stretches.

There are fourteen dead vampires in the house. There are two people standing back to back amidst the chaos, their chests heaving, their blades still raised.

It makes no sense. It just doesn’t add up, even in Jason’s panic-flooded brain.

If there is one thing that Jason managed to learn since this whole vamp thing began, it’s that the nest is _huge._ Bigger than life. The nest is powerful. He never saw them on a prowl, but you don’t have to be a genius to figure out how strength and teeth like theirs put together equal the deadliest predator ever known to man. There is just no fuckin’ way some two random dudes with machetes could take them all down, even if they’re hunters, or whatever they’re called.

Who— or rather, _what_ the hell are these guys?

The two must finally come to a conclusion that there’s nothing else left for them to kill in the vicinity, because they relax and straighten slowly. The moonlight hits their faces.

If he wasn’t plastered to the floor hiding from people who just brutally slaughtered his new friends, Jason would probably laugh out loud. The first thought that strikes him is that, hey, they look like normal people. The very second thought, following closely on the heels of the first, is that they’re most certainly not normal people, because normal people don’t just happen to be this attractive.

One of them is broad-shouldered and undeniably bow-legged, with lighter hair and a face downright beautiful enough to make people cry. The second one, the one who killed Ned, has a jawline that could cut diamonds and eyes that seem even sharper. Splatters of blood are gleaming darkly on their jeans and leather jackets.

Jason stifles a hysterical giggle. Two weeks ago, he didn’t even know monsters existed, and now he’s hiding from two of them looking like male models on a killing spree between photoshoots.

Seriously, what are they? Do all of their species look like that? Is it magic? And how does he get out of this mess?

The dark-haired man approaches Todd’s corpse. He props one heavily booted foot on Todd’s back. Stomps down. With a sickening squelch, he pulls the machete out of Todd’s skull. The blade sings through the air as he swiftly separates the head from the body.

Jason does his best not to vomit.

The hunter turns back to his companion. He sighs deeply, like a disappointed parent.

 “You can’t always give me your last blade, Dean.” He sounds exasperated. The other man – Dean? – cocks an eyebrow and heads for the machete embedded in the wall.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if, if you stopped losin ‘em left and right.”

The first man frowns and, not looking away from Dean, shakes the excess blood off his machete. They stare each other down for an uncomfortably long moment.

Dean smirks.

“What,” not-Dean asks flatly.

“Nothing.”

A pause. Jason feverishly prays that they stop whatever the hell it is they’re doing, take their weapons and go.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, the smirk still playing on his lips.

“What, Dean.”

“What do you call a vampire snowman?” Wait, what?

Cas’ face seems carved in stone. Not a single muscle moves. Dean’s smirk widens to a brilliant, shit-eating grin.

“Frostbite.” Jason can’t quite stop a painful groan from escaping. Cas slowly narrows his eyes.

And then he drops the machete, crowds Dean against the wall, with one swipe of his broad palm wipes the blood of Dean’s jawline and attacks his lips with the intensity matched only by the way the other hunter immediately clings to him in return.

Jason’s jaw drops.

“You are insufferable right after a job,” Cas pants between kisses while sneaking his hands under a thousand of layers the other guy seems to be wearing and raking his nails down his back. Dean arches, rubbing shamelessly against the other man.

“ _You’re_ insufferable,” he retorts lamely, apparently too busy burying his fingers in the mess of dark hair to think of a better come back. The way he tugs on the locks looks painful. It makes Cas hiss and drag his teeth up the side of Dean’s neck.

“You’re also aroused and unfairly beautiful,” he announces calmly, albeit a tad breathlessly, and begins to work on what is sure to become one hell of a hickey.

“You’re—  _ah_ ,” Dean moans helplessly as Cas grinds his hips into the prominent bulge at the front of his pants, “you’re aroused.”

“That I am,” Cas rasps in the kind of voice that should never be allowed outside of a sex hotline.

Huh. So here’s where the fire’s at.

Jason squirms uncomfortably.

It’s not like he’s gay or anything, ok? He’s not a fuckin’ faggot, god, he’s just. You know. Sometimes dudes are just. Handsome. And. And strong. Right? And he admires that. It’s admirable.

Just like he maybe-sorta-kinda admired Ned’s firm ass when he saw him for the first time bent over a pool table. Ned caught him staring and didn’t give a single fuck about Jason being hella underage for being in a bar. Ned didn’t give a fuck about a lot of things. Ned was _cool_ , for the lack of a better word. The night started with a beer and concluded with Ned showing him a whole new world of possibilities available for those unafraid and willing to offer their loyalty. So what if there was something predatory in Ned’s gaze that sent an unpleasant shiver down Jason’s spine. He had it all figured out, and he certainly had the guts to stomach whatever the nest would throw at him in the future. Ned chose him, after all. He was a great vampire material – that’s what Ned said. He just needed some training. Getting used to some things.

They became quick friends. Bros. Ned was awesome, and there was nothing wrong with appreciating it. There’s nothing wrong with appreciating a well-built dude with a nice face and strong hands, and tight jeans, and anyway, blowjobs aren’t real sex, everyone knows that. So.

So there’s nothing gay about the beginning of a boner he’s currently sporting. He can’t help it, right? It’s a simple case of watching two wildly attractive people just going at it.

And _boy_ , are they going.

By the time he comes back from his little reverie, Dean’s pants are pulled down somewhere to the middle of his thighs, which are hitched around his lover’s hips – and Jesus Christ on a stick, Dean is a huge guy, how strong is this other dude to keep him pinned to the wall so effortlessly? – as Cas continues to grind against his half-clothed dick.

Their hands roam all over their bodies, groping, grabbing for purchase, skating over arms, down the sides, as if they can’t get enough of each other. They don’t kiss anymore, seemingly unable to, their mouths open on silent gasps. Dean nuzzles the side of Cas’ face, panting wetly against his temple. Cas adjusts his grip on Dean’s thighs – and then his hand is on Dean’s face, thumb tracing down his cheekbone and coming to rest at the corner of Dean’s mouth. He murmurs into Dean’s neck something that makes them both stiffen and crash their lips together, hungrily, desperately. Either Jason is losing his mind or Cas’ eyes flash bright blue-white for a split-second when he comes.

Afterwards, they stay like this a bit longer, catching their breath and exchanging lazy caresses. Dean mumbles something that sounds like a question. Cas grumbles an answer into his collarbone. Something shifts in the air.

Jason’s jaw couldn’t drop any lower.

Dean plants a tender kiss on Cas’ cheekbone, right under his eye – they’re _psycho-killers_ , a small, deceptively calm voice in the back of Jason’s head points out helpfully, they’ve just slaughtered over a dozen of vampires and they’re _cuddling_ – and snickers quietly.

“Tell you what, instant come-cleaning must be one of my favorite parts of getting it on with an ex-angel.”

“Ex- _what_?!”

Instantaneously, there comes a sound of Dean landing on his feet and before Jason can even blink both men draw their guns and point them in the direction of his hideout. Cas’ arm is still wound tightly around Dean’s waist. Dean’s pants are still open. They’re both still covered in blood.

Jason is going to die at the hands of the Brangelina of the hunting world, and he only has himself and his stupid mouth to blame.

 

\---

 

“Angels are real?!”

Dean purses his lips and stares flatly at him.

“I think you have more important things to worry about now, buddy.” His eyes firmly stuck on Jason, he asks, “What do you think, Cas?”

“I think we should kill him,” comes an immediate response from the other guy leaning against the wall at the back. Jason starts struggling wildly against the ropes tying him to a chair.

“God, please, no, I told you, I’m not a vampire, I’m just—“

 “Yeah, okay, how about we don’t. The guy tells he didn’t swallow any vamp blood and—“

“ _Yet_. He was going to do this. He wanted to become a vampire. If we hadn’t wiped the nest—”

Dean closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Cas, we’ve talked about this. We don’t kill humans just because they’re annoying, even if they’re barely legal pipsqueaks with penchant for teenage blood play and _voyeuristic gay porn_ ,” he grits out the last words and opens his eyes to glare at Jason.

“But this one—“

“I’m not into gay porn. I’m not a faggot, period,” Jason pipes up stupidly. Both men stare at him incredulously.

“Really?” Dean’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “Two hunters find you in the middle of a vampire nest as a vamp-to-be, they’re currently debating whether or not to let you go, and you think that this is the right moment to no homo them?”

Jason swallows and shrugs, as much as the ropes allow him. So maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to do. He’s probably wounded, and losing blood with every minute, or maybe it’s just the insane stress of the last hour finally catching up and making his brain shut down. But it seems important, somehow. He might have just sobbed out his entire story to them, but he doesn’t want them to come to wrong conclusions. He’s not going to die a faggot, okay.

“Besides,” Dean continues, pointing one finger at him, “this is not the time or the place to do this, and frankly, even if someone put a gun to my head, I couldn’t scrape up a single fuck to give about your sexuality crisis, but from what you’ve just told us, kid, you’re pretty much very homo.” Dean sighs and adds under his breath, “Trust me, I would know.”

“Yes, Dean is sort of our resident expert on repressed homo,” Cas interjects serenely from the other side of the room. He’s calmly wiping the blood off the machetes with what looks like a jacket ripped from poor Todd’s corpse. Dean purses his lips and hangs his head. There is an impressive purple hickey on his neck.

“Yes, thank you, Cas. Anything else you want to share with the class?”

“In fact, yes. Are we killing the witness or—”

“This is not fair,” Dean downright whines. “Aren’t you and Sam supposed to be the humanitarian ones? I’m no good with non-violence solutions, I used to be a demon, for fuck’s sake.”

“Sam would have agreed with me the moment the boy used a homophobic slur,” Cas bristles. He scrubs viciously at a particularly stubborn bloodstain on the shimmering surface of the blade. “Besides, he saw us,” he adds, more quietly. His voice takes on a cold, threatening edge. “He saw _you_. And I don’t take lightly to those who think they have the right to see your soul at its brightest.” Jason watches in kind of a lightheaded daze as Dean’s cheeks go pink and he looks down bashfully. The hunter scratches the back of his neck.

“Shucks, Cas, you do know how to make a girl feel—“ Jason can’t take it anymore.

 “What are you, guys, married?”, he blurts out.

To his astonishment, Dean immediately smiles smugly and lifts his left hand. He spreads his fingers right in front of Jason’s face. A simple, silver band glints on his ring finger.

“Newlyweds,” Dean drawls, clearly pleased with himself.

“That is not true,” comes a rough rebuke from behind him. Dean winces and turns his head to the other man.

“Aw, ba— _Cas_ , don’t be like that, we still—”

“I believe after ten months there is nothing new about our wedding vows.”

“We’re on our honeymoon, come on, we deserve to—”

“We _were_ on our honeymoon, right up until _someone_ decided to take a ‘quick detour’ to make sure there’s nothing ‘fanged’ about the last string of disappearances ‘just a little up north our way’.” Are those finger quotes? Holy shit. Honest to God finger quotes. Jason’s murderers are the dorkiest, gayest hunters to ever walk the Mother Earth. Why is this his life. Death. Whatever.

 “It’s our job to—”

“You promised to take a holiday, Dean!” With a loud thud, Cas drops the machete on a nearby table and fully turns to Dean. His spine is rigid, his chin lifted haughtily.

“And I was taking it!” Dean lifts both his arms in defense. He still keeps a gun in one hand, but he doesn’t seem to notice it. Jason’s eyes follow the barrel of the gun as it draws circles and arches in the air with Dean’s every gesture. “I turned off all the phones, I practically locked Sam and Eileen in the bunker. It’s not my fault _someone_ kept fiddling with the radio until it hit local news!”

“So now it’s _my_ fault? Need I remind you of our previous attempt at honeymoon, the one that ended with you almost getting bitten by a werewolf?” Cas crosses his arms over his chest and cocks a condescending eyebrow. He looks pissed. Jason wouldn’t like to be on the receiving end of that glare – even if it’s mighty hot.

“So what, we were supposed to just leave the whole pack and let them—”

“How about the time before that, a charming affair, really, an hour to admire our cozy cottage in the woods, and then a whole week of tracking a wendigo—”

“I don’t remember you being too keen on leaving it to munch on tourists while we’re lazing around, skinny dipping in a lake and going at it like rabbits, so—”

“—or maybe the first one, a hotel full of fairies?”

“How was I supposed to know? I just thought they had a nice honeymoon package and the breakfast smorgasbord in the picture on the site looked fucking delicious.”

“Overall, four. Four attempts at honeymoon, Dean. Forgive my lack of enthusiasm.”

Dean covers his eyes with his hand.

“Can we not do that in front of a vampire massacre witness tied-up to a chair?”

“Of course, Dean. As you wish. We will just”, Cas’ eyes narrow dangerously, “keep it casual, as always, finish the interrogation, clean the weapons, pour a gallon of gasoline over everything, set it ablaze and continue on our merry way – and I can’t even say whether we are still talking about the job or maybe we have traversed into the topic of our marriage. Forgive me, it is so difficult to tell them apart sometimes.” Dean inhales sharply. A muscle in his jaw ticks dangerously. Their eyes meet and hold. At this point, Jason is good ten feet away from them, and he can still feel the electricity crackling between them. It’s unbearable.

“You look pretty happy to me, though.” Why, oh why, can he never just shut up? Both hunters turn to him and he cowers under the joined weight of their stares.

Open mouth, insert foot. Pull the trigger.

Jason starts sweating.

“I mean, I don’t know, I’m just a random kid, but you seem very – well, very efficient? As hunters, I mean. But also as lov–husbands. I meant husbands. You seem like a nice couple of husbands.” Both men seem at a loss for words. After a long silence, Dean shuffles closer to Cas.

“You sure the kid didn’t hit his head when you were pulling him from under the fridge?” He mumbles out of the corner of his mouth. “He seems a bit out of it, I told you to—“

“No, no, I’m fine.” These guys are murderers who chopped Ned’s head off and tied Jason to a chair. Why is he even talking to them? “I’m just saying, you seem pretty well-matched to me. Like. Passionate, and stuff.” Cas’ eyes gleam dangerously at the mention of that, and he leisurely reaches for the machete on the table behind him. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that! I mean. Passionate about your job. You seem very good at what you do. And–and very, like. In love. And the two seem connected? Like. You love each other for being good at what you do?” Jason sweats. He’s eighteen, for god’s sake. His longest relationship lasted five weeks.

But he finds himself strangely rooting for these two. Maybe it’s just the temporal insanity brought upon by blood loss and hysteria. Maybe it has something to do with how his stomach twisted every time Ned started talking about drinking blood of innocent people. Ned told him a few times about other things that go bump in the night and they didn’t sound particularly nice. Life filled with killing monsters can’t be too easy on a relationship. Maybe it’s about how the two hunters fought together, like a well-oiled machine, like a dance. Or maybe it’s the way they clung to each other in the post-orgasm glow.

Whatever it is, it seems to be working, because Cas’ eyes soften as he turns them back to Dean’s. He sighs.

“The boy is right, in a way. I shouldn’t begrudge your fight. After all,” he smiles, a tiny, fond thing curling the edges of his lips just so – it transforms his entire face. “This is what I fell in love with in the first place.”

Cas puts one hand on the other man’s shoulder. Dean looks down at it, far longer than necessary – it’s just a hand on a shoulder, what the hell – and then visibly melts under Cas’ touch. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles and pulls Cas forward by the back of his neck, so that their foreheads touch.

Jason gags discreetly. Last time he saw someone being this sappy, it was in one of these horrible movies with Katherine Heigl his uncle Oswald pretends he doesn’t watch.

And on the topic of uncle Oswald.

“You’re hunters, right?”, he blurts out, _again_. “Ned told me about you. Are you guys even allowed to be, you know.”

“What?”, Dean turns back to him, but his hand stays on the top of Cas’ spine, his fingers toying with hair curling just above the collar of Cas’ black leather jacket.

“Like.” Hella fuckin’ faggy. “Gay.”

Now both of them are looking at him. Then,

“I told you we should just kill him, Dean.”

“What, no—”

“I have neither time nor patience for this. I will stab him and then we may burn his body with the rest of them, it’s a reasonable solution.”

“You can’t just—”

“Shuddup, asshole, I’m considering it.”

If he survives this night, he’s going to keep his mouth firmly shut for the rest of his days.

And maybe look into some gay porn. That make-out session against the wall looked pretty hot.

 

\---

 

In the end, they let him go – after a solid hour of lecture on why he should definitely avoid any and all contact with the supernatural in the future. They shouldn’t worry – after the bloodbath that he’s witnessed, no amount of edgy would be enough to tempt him into joining this side of the universe ever again. A quiet life and maybe even some nice community college look just about damn fine right now.

He watches them pack their things into a huge black muscle car. For people dabbling in a highly illegal and secretive profession, they sure travel in the least inconspicuous way possible. Dean hands Cas a full canister from the trunk and comes up to Jason. He hesitates.

 “Listen, buddy.” He scratches his stubbled chin. “I know it’s confusing – believe me, I know – but maybe next time you should start with someone– something less complicated than dating a vampire.”

“I’m not a fa—“

“Yeah, ok, we know. You’re not gay.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Sure. But you might wanna, uh. Ease your way into things. You know, sexuality—dating—dating is a lot like. Like,” Dean looks around, clearly lost. His gaze falls on the beast of a car standing nearby. “It’s like driving. First, you get yourself a nice bicycle, and when you manage to ride it, you might even take off the training wheels at some point. And then—”

“What, then, if I’m a good boy and hold out until marriage, Jesus will love me more?”

“Don’t test me, I can still stab you in the face and make sure no one will ever find your body. No. Then, one day, if you’re really, really good, you might even get a license and drive a real car.” Jason stares at him.

“You sure you’re the best man to tell me that? Where does being gay-married to an ex-angel fall into all of this?” Dean waves it off.

“An ex-angel shtick is nothing, but Cas—”

He glances at his husband who chooses this moment to emerge from the house with the empty canister. The smell of gasoline permeates the air. With one flick of the wrist, Cas lights an entire matchbook at once and throws it into the room. Then he closes the door and unhurriedly walks down the steps of the porch, swinging the canister almost merrily. In the moonlight, his eyes seem very dark, as well as the stubble peppering his jaw, his jacket and his hands, smudged with blood. A moment later, something in the house explodes with a loud noise of shattering glass. First flames start licking at the windows.

Something strange passes over Dean’s face, an odd mixture of awe and determination.

“Cas is a space rocket.”

“Dean!”

“Major Tom reporting to ground control! Coming.” He claps Jason on the shoulder and goes to join the other man. Cas frowns.

“I understand that reference and yet, I still find your use of it ridiculous and misplaced.”

“Keep talking disdain to me, darling.”

“Of course, it doesn’t change the fact that I would still very much like to go back to the motel and spend whatever remains of our fourth failed honeymoon trying to make you come untouched.”

“ _Cas._ ”

Yeah. So much research into gay porn.

**Author's Note:**

> A choice of terms googled while working on this: "vampire puns", "how to burn a house", "how to light a matchbook", "fairies according to supernatural", "faggot adjective".
> 
> Happy birthday, K. It took me two years to write this, because I'm a Trash™.


End file.
